Bumblebee Takes Care of Me
by Salome Sensei
Summary: There is no greater love than a boy and his Autobot. From WAFF to angst to hardcore. Adults only.
1. Car Wash

Author's Note: OT. Decided to begin with the innuendo fics. In other fic, I might consider letting Mikaela not be the spoilsport. No bashing intended. It's just...she's a girl getting between a boy and his car, y'know? *snicker* (xposted to LJ comm SamxBee)

Car Wash

Mikaela's been at me again. Nothing really bad, I mean. I'm not one of those guys who thinks girls should just be stupid and look pretty or who talks crap about them behind their backs. I like that she loves cars, too. She's good with them. It's just that she doesn't get my relationship with Bee. And maybe I shouldn't try to explain. Not to her. Ever since the time we went to the drive-in and made out in Bee's backseat and she caught me rubbing the upholstery, she's been…suspicious. Jealous, I guess. I just told her I didn't want him to feel left out. She kinda lost it. So, when I told her I couldn't go to the carnival today because I needed to give Bee a good wash, she wasn't happy about it. "You love that 'Bot more than me," she actually said. I couldn't believe it, but she said it. And she's probably right. But I didn't admit it.

Bee transforms down from that amazingly huge Autobot presence to his car self, and I just stand their watching, like always. I'm used to how big he is and how he makes that awesome change. But I'm still wowed by the might of him and how he stays all crackling with power as he compacts down into the prettiest little Camaro I've ever seen. My Camaro. My Bee.

I lean in through the window and turn on the radio—spend a bit more time with the knobs than I have to, of course. He plays this classical piano thing. It's pretty. I think he's trying to class me up or something now that I'm going to college. I run my hand over the driver's seat and tell him he's going to get a hot, wet, soapy rubdown in a low voice. He revs his engine in response. We're just tight like that.

Of course, Bee's not dirty. He never is. Autobots seem to have this amazing ability to just stay clean. Still, I've got my bucket of hot soapy water, my towels (no old rags for my Bee), and the hose ready. Even got some wax to buff him with. The Bee loves the buffing. He rumbles for it, almost like begging, or plays the Beatles' "Please Please Me" and makes me laugh. Guess that's what I love best about me and Bee: everything's so comfortable, so easy, so _us_.

I soak the towel and my hands are all warm now and foamy, and I start to rub down his hood. Leaning over and into him, pressing up against the metal that's never cool like a "real" car, but like human body temperature or maybe a little hotter. Autobots aren't cold. In any way. The piano music's still playing, and I'm scrubbing him everywhere, and I feel like I could spend the whole day like this, just making Bee feel good. It makes me feel good too. And there's nothing wrong with that, even if Mikaela never understands.


	2. JiffyLube

JiffyLube

Author's Note: Thanks to Kira for the "JiffyLube" prompt. Thanks to my husband for the "undercarriage" line. Revs engine at Abraxas, and a tip of the gasket to my readers!

Sam swallowed hard. This was either going to go extremely well (as it had when he played it out in his head) or hideously (as it also had in his head). He cleared his throat and began with an "Ummmm…"

Bumblebee played a little of Marvin Gaye's "What's Goin' On?" as he often did when he was concerned about Sam having something to say but not saying it. His voice was working again, but the shy, loving Autobot preferred to use someone else's words when he could. Fiercely protective, his feelings for Sam just often left him speechless.

Sam bit his lip, took a deep breath, and went for it: "Bee, I-want-to-take-you-to-JiffyLube-for-an-oil-change!" It was rushed, blurted, and in no way the seductive offer he made it when he imagined coaxing his cherished friend into a fun experience for both of them.

Bee was so shocked the music of his radio voice turned to static then silence. He froze.

Sam felt like a total schmuck. He grabbed Bee's huge hand and stroked his massive knuckles soothingly. He looked up into those wide metallic eyes. When Bee froze up like this, it hurt him like a punch to the gut. He knew his desires were selfish, to watch Bee handled by someone else like that...it'd make him so proud and the mechanics would be so envious of Bee's awesome chassis and how clean and smooth he was under the hood… Oh, how he wanted to watch that… "I'll be with you the whole time—"

"But Sam, their dirty, greasy hands will be all up in my undercarriage," Bee interrupted, voice a low whine.

Now he really felt bad. What a thoughtless asshole he was. Bee deserved better. Put his life on the line for him, time and again; gave him a fast, beautiful ride whenever, wherever; indulged him and gave back more than he ever asked for. And here Sam was, asking for more. More than Bee could give. "I'm sorry." His voice was a guilty whisper. "I won't ask again."

Bee gave a soft, pneumatic sigh. "All right," he said, and shifted neatly into car form. A bot had to keep his boy happy, right? Or he might just replace him…with a girl.


	3. I Wanna F You Like an Autobot

Warning: Deeply wrong boy/bot action.  
Author's Note: Epic saga must continue. Thank you so much for the hits and the reviews!!!!

I Wanna F You Like an Autobot

"I said I'm sorry, Bee," Sam sighed, his voice almost a whine, honest in his regret as he was in his desire to make it up to his protector and friend. "I didn't mean to make you worry."

Bee responded with the strains of Elvis's "Heartbreak Hotel" as his posture remained slumped and unresponsive. The guilt washed over Sam anew. Despite the lack of emotion on the Autobot's face, the music and the pose left no mistaking that Bee was feeling very sorry for himself indeed.

Ok, yeah, Sam had wandered off again without telling Bumblebee—he just had to! Why did Bee never understand. Probably because Autobot's didn't have teen hormones. But they did experience pleasure. That Sam knew firsthand, and sharing his first sexual experiences with Autobot rather than a girl was part of the relationship with Bee he treasured most. Even now his cock twitched in memory of the recent "punishment" over the workbench he'd received. No question that they had both enjoyed that, beginning to end.

But anger and arousal were not moods his protector was expressing now. This was all disappointment, all the way. A veritable black and gold iemobot/i stood before him. And Sam needed to do something to make it right.

In a flash it came to him. "Let's go for a drive," Sam said, stroking Bee's cool metal forearm. "You and me."

Bee's mood changed so abruptly Sam snorted. The guilt-inducing soundtrack changed with a loud simulated LP-scratch from Elvis with the blues to "All Shook Up." Sam laughed as he stepped back to watch his companion shift, clang, and fold himself into the familiar little gold car he adored.

Bee revved his engine. "My pretty little Camaro," Sam grinned, slipping in through the window and sliding down into that smooth vinyl seat. His hand was on the stick—and his own stick—before Bee even got moving.

Speeding down an open stretch of road, Bee in total control, Sam closed his eyes and pumped his cock at the same rhythm he pumped the gearshift.

Life was so fucking good sometimes. Just Sam and Bee, a boy and his Aubot, the simulated radio of Bee's "voice" blasting the chorus of Nine Inch Nails' "Closer."

"Nah, Bee," Sam shouted as he panted, nearing his peak as he fisted Bee's shift eagerly, "Not an animal." He groaned with pleasure. "I wanna fuck you…like an Autobot."

Bee gunned his engine in pleasure and the grinding sound plus the whipping of the wind through the car carried Sam's harsh cry of climax off and away into the darkness.

~


	4. Moment

Author's Note: A little bittersweet moment.

Moment

Bee rested, parked in the country, far away from everything and everyone, contented to be in carform for as long as it gave Sam pleasure. He felt the pressure of the teen's warm back against his windshield. It was so good like this, the sun warming him as Sam leaned against him, arms folded overhead, shirt tossed away. A trickle of sweat dripped down his side, little droplets splashing down into Bee's chassis.

"You ever think about the fact that I won't stay young forever?" Sam asked softly, seeing spots from the sun against his closed eyelids. He stroked the warm, shiny yellow hood casually. "You'll stay perfect and beautiful, just like this, while I get wrinkled and old. Will you still want me then, Bee?"

The radio clicked itself on and, through the open window, he played the strains of the Beatles' "When I'm Sixty-Four."

"Nah, come on, Bee. I'm serious."

Ah human youth, thought Bee. In his deep, metallic voice, filtered by the speakers of his carform, Bee met seriousness with seriousness. "I suspect you will outgrow me long before I lose an iota of interest in you, Sam." Every Autobot knew about the love between boys and their cars—and how it was destined to be supplanted by the love between boys and their girlfriends.

Shocked, Sam flipped over and wrapped his arms as far around the windshield as he could, laying his cheek on the warm glass. "Never, Bee. Never," he murmured.

For that beautiful, still moment—and so very, very many more—there was no greater truth in the world, for either.


	5. Take It Sam & Bumblebee Takes Care of Me

Author's Note: "Take It, Sam" is a recent little giftfic for Abraxas_ren, and below it is my first ever Sam/Bee that gave the title to this collection and to the refrain in "Take It, Sam." Both are brief, hardcore, and adult only -- and should land me nicely in hell.

Take It, Sam

My face is pressed hard into the black leather of your plush interior. I can hardly breathe, which is how you want it and how I need it. The bucket seats push into and ply apart my cheeks, spreading me wider for your assault. Out here, alone on a hilltop beneath the stars, you show me all that you are for me, stickshift extended and plunging up my ass, your voice crackling "Take it, Sam" from speakers all around me. The surround sound of your fuck, Bee.

I sweat from every pore, longing for your hot metal affection, for more, always more. And you always provide, powering down the rear passenger window as the seatbelt tightens around my throat and tips my head back until I'm gasping then swallowing your snaking tailpipe, getting high on the trace of exhaust fumes you make, just for me.

To the rhythm of your pounding stick, my mind cries out the same five words over and over, a mantra for my undying love for my devious, devoted 'bot: "Bumblebee takes care of me, Bumblebee takes care of me, Bumblebee takes care of me…"

- - -

Bumble Bee Takes Care of Me

Sam shivered, sweat breaking out all over his body. He'd disobeyed again, slipped away while Bumblebee wasn't looking. Now his protector was doing all he could to make sure it wouldn't happen again. This was his duty.

With Sam bent over the garage workbench, arms pinned behind him by a clamping metal hand and legs spread wide, the Autobot pistoned an oiled metal appendage in and out of the tight little ass. Just the right size for the job.

"Say it loud!" chanted B in a digitized recording of the voice of James Brown as he thrust his humming metal member in and out with determined discipline (and perhaps more than a little pleasure).

"No one takes care of me like Bumblebee," Sam cried as he shot his load.


	6. Shortlived Blues

Author's Note: Been too long since I visited Sam/Bee! Here's a little tidbit of luv.

Disclaimer: I don't own the _Transformers_ movies, and "A Woman Don't Care" is B. B. King's.

Short-lived Blues

Mikaela clicked off; the line went dead. Was this really it? Was it really over? He leaned back into the supple black leather of the driver's seat. A starry night sky twinkled at him through the windshield. The windows were down and the evening air was crisp and cool. He and Bee had parked to relax, and now Mikaela's call had ruined it. "I don't get it. I just don't get it."

Bee replied through the radio, cranking up a slow blues number.

"It's not like we had a date or anything."

B. B. King sang, deep and low, "A woman don't care, she don't care who she gives the blues."

Sam groaned. "Nah, she cares, Bee. She's just jealous…jealous of me and you."

The radio switched quickly over to a choir singing "Oh Happy Day."

"Blasphemer," Sam snorted.

Bee revved the engine.

Sam opened the door and hopped out as the music clicked off. "Transform for me," he whispered, and watched as the car became massive bot. The sight moved Sam, awed and roused him like nothing else. His Bee: the sleekest, hottest ride and the most breathtaking of robots.

He pressed his cheek into Bee's huge hand.

Bee whirred with electronic arousal.

Sam looked up at the strangely beautiful alien face and smiled. They were so right together. Mikaela would either understand or he'd give her up. Because he'd never give up Bee. "Only thing that would make this night better is if you could fuck me while I'm bent over your hood."

Bee ground out a metallic chuckle. "Even I can't be two things at once, Sam Witwicky. Why don't you drape yourself over one hand, and I'll give you what you need with the other."

Sam grinned. Oh no, he'd never give up his Bee.


	7. Devotion

May 2011

Note: I can't believe I haven't written any Bee/Sam since April 2010! This little angsty tidbit is long overdue! A kind of prequel to all the naughtiness.

**Devotion**

Does devotion necessarily lead to disappointment? Is it my destiny to love in silence, or will you surprise me yet again, Sam Witwicky?

I feel your sweat upon the metal essence of me, even more when you ride inside me, embraced within the leather I emulate when I transform for you. How you love to drive, Sam, and how I crave to be driven. I feel your breath on the windshield that is my vision. I feel your heat ripple through every mechanical inch of me. My engine purrs, roars as you bring me to life in ways I never knew possible. And I feel even more than your breath and body, Sam: I feel your bravery and your fears. They drive me as strongly as your foot on the clutch that is perhaps my heart.

You crave adventure: I give it to you. But you also crave the touch of human females, and that I can neither be nor desire. In truth, I didn't know I could crave anything human, but I can, and it is you. How I ache with the need to protect and fulfill you, Sam.

My radio blares news and love songs, voices of others that are also mine. Can you hear me through the blare, Sam? Can you feel me as I do you? How will I find the strength to claim you and teach you my truths? Oh Sam, what power is there in human coupling compared to a boy and his car?


End file.
